


can't even imagine

by verity



Series: tween wolf [36]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, Gen, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheriff clears his throat. "Stiles is—he gets himself into trouble plenty, mind you, but still—he's a good kid. Only one I've got. Used to be your friend, back in middle school."</p><p>"He's still my friend," Allison says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't even imagine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskey_in_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_in_tea/gifts).



> Scout, I keep gifting you all the Allison parts. I hope you enjoy them. <3

"Well, I won't ask you any more questions, then," Sheriff Stilinski says. He leans back against his chair. "Why don't I just tell you my understanding of what happened tonight, and we can go from there?"

Allison keeps her face carefully blank.

"I got a call around 10 tonight from one of the Martins' neighbors," he says. "Noise complaint; we do get those for that address from time to time. We're a little short-staffed right now because Kim's out with her new baby, so I decided I'd head out by myself to check it out. By the time I rolled up, Laura here had apprised me that whatever was going down was supernatural. Normally, I let her take the lead on these things, but my son was at that party. I believe you know him, Allison."

"Stiles," Laura says, putting her folded arms on the table. "Tall, skinny, all elbows, terrible sense of humor? Just in case you needed me to jog your memory."

The sheriff clears his throat. "Stiles is—he gets himself into trouble plenty, mind you, but still—he's a good kid. Only one I've got. Used to be your friend, back in middle school."

"He's still my friend," Allison says, can't help it. "He's—"

"I get there," he continues, "and the whole backyard's full of kids screaming, except for my son, who's trying to help his friend Erica. She's got epilepsy; he tells me she's about to have a seizure, says he needs me to take care of her, so he can take care of _you_."

"That's not what Stiles was—" Oh, the sheriff is _good_ at this. Allison wants to beat her head against the table; instead, she straightens, keeps her hands flat on her lap.

"Lydia's sister, Daphne—she's part of Laura's pack. She tells me she and Laura's brother Derek will take care of Erica. That boy's had a lot of trouble in his life—maybe you know a little about it. He looks like he's about to pass out, but at least he's not screaming like the rest of those kids. Daphne's okay, so we get Erica inside, lying down, and I go out to back up my son." The sheriff pauses, breathes in deep. "I want you to think about this, Allison. I'm 47, and Stiles is 16. Kids are losing their shit all around us, his friends, his classmates, and there's nothing I can do to help him except keep my hand on the butt of my gun and watch. You know what I saw?" 

"I know what you saw," Allison says miserably. "You saw him and Scott—help me."

"I don't know what they did." The sheriff leans forward. "You're going to have to fill in some blanks for me, Allison. Because if you don't, I'm going to have to get it out of my kid. He's loyal, Stiles is. He's not going to give you up easy, not even to his own dad."

Laura's stayed quiet, let the sheriff work through his good cop monologue, kept her eyes on Allison the whole time. "You're a miserable little coward," she says now. "If you were trying to use Stiles or Scott to get at me, you were playing the wrong game. What did you want? Gonna burn down my house again, make it look like an inside job? Your Code's a joke."

"No, it's _not_ ," Allison says. Her nails dig into her thighs. "You don't know anything about it, you don't—if you knew, you'd—it's not some honor code, it's the law, it's _enforced_."

"Really." Laura's voice goes sweet and mocking. "Last I checked, Argent, you and your little—"

Allison's held it together this whole time, since she got the call in Albany about her aunt; not the one from the prison. There's a three-strikes rule, it turns out. It would have been easier to surrender—she would have had a few days left with Dad, in their house with all of the flotsam and jetsam of her stupid little life. Instead, she took the one ace up her sleeve and played it. 

She bought a little time.

"They're going to kill me," Allison says, looking down at the chipped formica of the table. "That's what they do. You fuck up, they end you. They end your whole family."

"You fucked up?" Laura says.

Allison laughs, because if she doesn't, she's just going to cry. "You can't even imagine."

—

"So what happened at the Martins' tonight?" the sheriff asks, after a pause long enough for Laura to leave the room and come back, two cups of coffee in her hands. None for Allison. "Did someone curse you?"

"No," Allison says. She doesn't touch the brand itching on her hip. "I did it to myself."


End file.
